


Born With It

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, Circle of Magic - Tamora Pierce, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M, Police, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:44:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon wishes the magic of singing was <i>true</i> magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born With It

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the Circle of Magic series, here's what you need to know. It's set in an alternate medieval Europe, where some people have magic, some don't, but it's just another character trait. There are two kinds of magic, academic and ambient. Most children get tested for magic, but in general they only find academic magic. Academic is what it sounds like, spells that can be studied and performed by many. Ambient magic is through things like glassblowing and plants and wind, and only a person with that sort of ambient magic can perform it. Ambient is much rarer, but also much stronger. In this world most things are done in guilds and professions follow family lines. The city's police force (Harriers) are one such guild.

Brendon’s not surprised to find out Pasco’s a mage. Really it would be stranger to think he isn’t. Fish leaping into nets because of magic makes sense, it would be upsetting if they just did it for no reason. The nature of things should only change when there’s a reason behind it.

He’s jealous, acourse. How could he not be? Pasco gets to get out of the harrying life because he’s got magic. Sure, sometimes Provost’s Guard asks Pasco to dance criminals to them, there was that whole thing with the Dihanurs. Still, it’s not _really_ harrying. It’s dancing with a reason behind it. Brendon would do the same, if he could, a beautiful mix of what he loves and the family career.

The problem is while singing feels like magic, it isn’t actually. Brendon never made figures in fire, and when the mage sniffer came to test the Uries only Matt was pointed out. As a child it didn’t bother Brendon because his best friend didn’t have magic either and who wanted something they couldn’t share? Brendon’s known Pasco since their infancy. With families as large as the Acalons and the Uries, both harriers for so many generations it’s hard to remember all the ancestors that gave their lives to service, friendships are almost as arranged as marriages. He’s only two years older than Pasco, but being the eldest gives him a leg up in remembering their past, and he’s sure Pasco never made objects float either. So yes, the news of fishermen returning to the docks with boatloads of fish after a dry season because Pasco danced for them is a bit shocking. And before that has a chance to settle at all he’s graduating from fish to capturing assassins addicted to drugs.

Pasco’s a lot busier now, shuttling between the lessons of his magic teacher Sandry and his dance teacher Yazmin. He doesn’t even live with the Acalons anymore, but with fellow dancers on Festival Street. Brendon still sees him often enough, when he’s not being trained for harrying by Kara and Mason. He says the floating and making shapes and making things glow are the three early signs of academic magic, which isn’t what he has. Pasco’s got something called ambient magic, magic that channels itself into something that the person really loves to do.

It gives him hope, at first. If Pasco can do magical dances, and his teacher can do magic with thread, who’s to say Brendon can’t have magic too? So he pours his entire soul into singing. He substitutes words of classic songs with words pertaining to what he wants, sings with his eyes closed and imagining what he wants to happen. He sings with _intent_ , because if Pasco can escape then why can’t he? But the dishes don’t wash themselves and Matt doesn’t break out in an itch. The neighbour’s cat comes into the yard, but Brendon suspects that’s less him and more the cat’s choice.

Brendon only does it once to Pasco. He’s watching Pasco dance in a rare free moment, a few years after the initial move to Festival Street. He’s gotten better at holding himself in, he hardly ever even has to dance the quick boxstep that raises his wards anymore. This time he hasn’t even done that. He’s not doing magic, just enjoying it for the movement. Brendon can’t stop the surge of jealous that rises through him, can’t stop himself from wanting everything he’s watching. Imagine, practicing something you love and having it be practicing your career rather than wasting time.

He doesn’t know why he does it, he just does. He hops off the high stool he always perches on rather than sit on the ratty bench -the cushions have been leaking straw since the day Pasco bought the item- and moves to the section of floor Pasco’s currently using. He stops him mid-step with a kiss.

Pasco grimaces as he pushes Brendon away, even that movement smooth. “What did you do that for?”

“It was your dance. You lured me in.” Technically it’s not even a lie. It is the dance’s fault that Brendon’s feeling out of control. 

“I wasn’t leaking, chufflebrain,” Pasco frowns, outraged at the slight on his magical ability.

Sometimes offending someone is better than telling the truth. “Were too, bleater.”

After that their friendship is different. Pasco knows better than to say anything to his family. Any Acalon would automatically tell the Urie of the same age, a dozen matches between cousins and grandparents. But he never seems to forget about it either, always startles just the slightest bit when Brendon shifts near him for whatever reason. Pasco not being able to forget means that Brendon can’t forget, not when he can’t sling an arm around his best friend’s shoulder without a flinch.

It’s almost a relief when Brendon becomes an official harrier, with his own route and partner rather than tagging along with an older set of relatives and listening to them ramble about when they were young between arrests. It means less time with Pasco, and far more with Iago, who doesn’t know his secrets. Not even that he still wishes he could be a singing mage, and that’s fairly easy to figure out. Iago’s not the brightest star in the sky, doesn’t connect Brendon singing to himself as they make their patrol with any inner motive.

The singing results in a mixed review with the Urie head of house, and the harrier coop in general. On one hand, it’s bad that he can’t focus on his work, because that has the potential to leave his partner in danger. Brendon refrains from mentioning that it’s far more likely Iago wouldn’t notice a thief sneaking up behind them with a knife rather than Brendon be entirely distracted by singing. At the same time they tell him that of everyone in the Watch, he’s the most approachable to citizens. Similarly Brendon stops himself from mentioning that if half the Watch wasn’t more than willing to hit a citizen instead of asking them what they witnessed maybe people would approach them more.

Still, truth is truth. Brendon is one of the most popular harriers, and that’s proven when one day a middle sized man in patched breeches comes up to him with a sheet of paper in hand. “You should sing this,” he says.

Brendon of course knows how to read. As a harrier he must know. It’s just surprising someone in this area of Summersea can. While it’s not a full out slum -no one would let two new harriers patrol the Mire- it’s not a nice area either. The words are impeccably spelled, handwriting curved and neat. They make good lyrics, and after he’s done reading he raises his head to ask what the man’s thoughts are of the tune they should follow. The man is gone.

Once Brendon’s off shift he goes to track him down. Never mind that he’s as likely to get bashed up as helped if he asks a local. That he’s a singing harrier might be the only thing that stops those with a brother or cousin in the mines from throwing rotten food at him. Praise Harrier the Clawed and Hakkoi the Smith he’s easily found. He says his name is Ryan. He says he knows Brendon’s voice is the one his group of minstrels has been missing. He says Brendon is beautiful. He says a great many things, and Brendon doesn’t know how to answer any of them, so he leaves. It’s not until he gets home that he notices the wrinkled paper is still in his hand.

The lyrics mock him. Over the next week he compulsively reads them, cannot stop himself from trying to place a tune behind it. He tries to stop the part of his mind that tells him it would be easier if he knew what instruments Ryan and his friends played. One can’t do the same song with a flageolet as with a kettledrum. It doesn’t matter what they play, because he has a job to do that doesn’t involve trying to get an audience with the Duke.

Eventually the time comes that he visits Pasco. The visits are often tinged with a slight discomfort, but they’ve known each other too long to just stop meeting. Brendon doesn’t mean to talk of it, and of course that’s why it comes out. Even when he’s harrying he doesn’t do a good job of staying quiet.

“If you want music, go be a minstrel. You don’t need to be a harrier,” Pasco tells him.

Brendon manages to not roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. “Of course I do. My entire family is.”

“ _My_ entire family is and I’m not.” That’s such an incredibly unfair comment Brendon wants to punch Pasco in the nose.

“It’s different. You know it’s different. You have a career, a destiny to make your ma and da proud with. What do I have?”

Pasco shrugs. “A dream. A love, maybe.”

Brendon stares at him.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You wouldn’t be in half the dither you are right now if you didn’t like the man who spoke to you.” Pasco shrugs. “I don’t care, or anything. Wamuko likes men too, he always tries to bring them back to the studio, thinks they’ll fall into lust if they see him dancing.”

“You couldn’t have said that before I spent two years thinking I’d frighted you off?”

“I don’t care Brendon, honestly. I just didn’t want you kissing me, and I didn’t want you kissing me because I was sending out a thread of magic I didn’t mean to even more.”

“Maybe he plays the cittern,” Brendon whispers. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy helping people and stopping thieves from hurting people. It’s just there could be more. There could be _music_.

“You should go find out,” Pasco suggests. Brendon decides to follow his advice.


End file.
